Concert Review: Samora Pinderhughes, MilkBoy
December 16, 2024
Photos by Stanley Collins
On Wednesday, December 4th, pianist, composer, vocalist, and filmmaker, Samora Pinderhughes played Philadelphia’s MilkBoy concert venue. Pinderhughes’ show comes in support of the artist’s most recent release, Venus Smiles Not in the House of Tears. Pinderhughes, who just wrapped a set of dates in Europe, was joined by Elliott Skinner (guitar, vocals) and Joshua Crumbly (bass), and Brayla, who opened the night. Following the show, Kevin (friend of the blog and friend IRL) and I recapped the night’s performances , discussing what drew us to Pinderhughes’ music, what it means to be a “headliner” and how that can be rethought, audience engagement, and more! Here’s our conversation:
Stanley: Yo yo, I appreciate you for taking out some time to do this!
How did you come to Samora’s music? What continues to draw you to his music? And, if you can, how would you describe Samora’s music to someone unfamiliar (or the uninitiated lol)?
Kevin: Yessir! I look at these reviews as my personal 10-day contract like in the NBA, or getting called up from the G-league, a chance to see if the developmental team has helped me work on my game enough to write some compelling thoughts about these concerts on the main site lol.
But I digress - so, I'm not entirely sure how I came to Samora's music. Normally I give you the credit, so I'm going to do that here. I remember back in 2015 one of my favorite Tiny Desk performances by Chief Xian aTunde Adjuah (formerly known as Christian Scott) had Elena Pinderhughes on flute. Then, I feel like you sent me Samora's project, GRIEF, some years later and the last name stuck out (they turned out to be siblings).
I would say what continues to draw me to his music is the same thing I felt when listening to that project: emotions. Much of this comes from the songwriting. Samora mentioned during the show that he loves to ask questions in his songs. For example in the song Better, "I can't get better, do you wanna get better?" I am always pro-question. Samora regularly uses this approach in his songwriting and it has the ability to sit with you long after you listen to the project. He has a way of conveying how he feels but offers space for the listener to go through that same level of self-reflection.
Anyone that goes to therapy has to bring it up. I'm going to do that here lol. I've been going to therapy over the past few years and doing my best to access emotions that have been tucked away for a whole host of reasons. Music is one of the tools I use to access those emotions and ideas. Samora's ability to explore topics like masculinity, grief, hope, depression, and love is impressive. But not because he comes across as some authority on how we are supposed to do it. He asks questions. He is okay being vulnerable. His voice helps with that I think - his voice in particular feels very Nick Hakim-like to me sometimes (maybe?). You can hear the emotion in their voices. And my favorite artists have a way of asking you to join them in places that require you to bring your full self to the musical experience. Samora has that imo.
Maybe this is a digression too far lol - but the Philadelphia Eagles (an obligatory, go Birds here) posted something on socials asking the players their favorite Kendrick Lamar song as they walked by a camera headed to practice. I bring this up because there seems to always be this discussion online about the value people place on where we hear and play music. For example, "nobody plays Kendrick in the car or the club." One of the players said their favorite song was Mortal Man. I thought it was interesting because Samora will most likely never be played to turn up, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that lol.
But the power of an artist like a Samora or a Kendrick is that they ask us to feel and think about something Cole Arthur Riley brings up in her book Black Liturgies, which is the "Black interior world." What emotions and memories are we dealing with or not dealing with, particularly as Black folk? Especially in a system/country that has always been violent and oppressive to and for Black people. What wounds do we carry and how do we talk about that with our own self and, in turn, to others? So yeah, Samora may not get played at the cookout. But its value is evident once you sit down, listen and feel.
Does any of that resonate with you? What else would you say the uninitiated should know about Samora's music?
Stanley: Haha -- the Hinkie 10-day special. Except you are the Robert Covington of the 10-day special: G-League MVP turned rotational player and All-Defense lol.
I wanted to riff on what you mentioned regarding Samora's use of questions and going to therapy. I've also been going to therapy for some years now. I've found that the process of asking questions is a humbling experience. Answers, for the most part, are relatively easy to get to. But the right question(s) -- especially asked of yourself -- are much more difficult to arrive at.
I was introduced to Samora via August Greene — the collective/group made up of Robert Glasper, Karriem Riggins, and Common — and their 2018 album. After hearing that album, I kept tabs on him to some degree. But it was his 2022 album, GRIEF, where I fully bought in. I was completely blown away by his songwriting, the vulnerability in his music; his meditations on the social and political felt like something I'd been longing for in music (and art more broadly). Around this time, I also found out about his work via The Healing Project, which is an ongoing project that uses the arts to interrogate systemic oppression, asking "what if we build our world around healing?"
Musically, I find his compositional style interesting and exciting, too. I like that his music acts as connective tissue across the range of Black Music traditions, everything from "Jazz" to "Classical" to "Rock" to "Folk" can be found. On his last two albums, he's worked with Argus Quartet — a string quartet made up of Clara Kim (violin), Giancarlo Latta (violin), Maren Rothfritz (viola), and Mariel Roberts (cello) — who've added such rich textures of emotionality to the music. Then there's the host of other musicians, like Burniss “Boom Bishop” Travis (Robert Glasper; Yebba), Brad Allen Williams (Brittany Howard, Nate Smith), Joshua Crumbly (Leon Bridges, Braxton Cook), Marcus Gillmore (Flying Lotus, Terrace Martin) who you'll find on his albums as well.
For me, the combination of the music, the message, and the spirit tying them all together, are elements I look for in music (and art more broadly), and Samora's work has it — that's what keeps me coming back.
For this tour – or at least the Philadelphia show – there was no drummer, just a trio made up of piano, guitar and bass. What did you think of this setup?
Kevin: I thought it really worked actually! Usually I get nervous when I don't see drums at a show. Mainly because I feel like drums do so much to fill the room. But Samora's music can be experienced and enjoyed in these more intimate settings due to the type of music he makes. I'm going to clear out and let you cook here though as this is probably where my limited actual music knowledge rears its head lol. Did you feel like the setup worked and/or made sense?
Stanley: I thought it was a cool setup and they made it work! Because there weren't any drums, it made the music more meditative, calming even (not that drums can't be meditative lol). I've been watching a lot of Ella Feingold's videos on Instagram where she does these breakdowns of rhythm guitar parts. She often emphasizes how percussive the guitar can be — almost like bongos or a snare — and how effective it can be used in that way. To me, not having drums brought out the percussiveness of each instrument even more.
“I’ve been leaning more into things that require me to slow down and listen. When I slow down, I am able to identify and feel emotions. His music immediately felt like that for me. ”
This also makes me think about this scene in Get On Up, the 2014 James Brown biopic, where Chadwick Boseman — who is playing Brown — asks Maceo Parker (played by Craig Robinson) what instrument each band member was playing. Brown goes around the room identifying everything from a saxophone to an electric guitar, asking the band what they saw. While they all "correctly" identified each instrument, Brown, trying to make a point, stated that each instrument was a drum. (Idk about the validity of this scene lmao BUT!) I thought this was an excellent way of thinking about instruments and how they all are imbued with percussive qualities.
Now, there was one downside for me with this setup. Because the music venue is on top of a restaurant, when the show got really quiet, I could hear the silverware clanking on the plates and people talking, so it became a little distracting at times, but not the end of the world.
The format of the night was a bit different than what we typically see at shows. After Brayla’s set, the opener, we’d typically see the “headliner” come straight to the stage with their music. Instead, Samora took to the stage and said that each band member would have their own sets, because, for him, community is important and having these musicians who are also his collaborators and friends share their music was vital.
With that said, we’ve seen Joshua Crumbly a few times – once with Leon Bridges back in 2022, then again with Braxton Cook in 2023 – but this was our first time hearing his music. Not too long into his set you leaned over and said to me “this is right down my alley.”
I’m curious what about Joshua’s music resonated with you? And, more broadly, what did you think about the format of the night?
Kevin: Yes! I thought this was the most interesting decision of the night. "Community" as a word feels like it has had a revival in recent years. I think a lot of this is due to the effects of capitalism, tech and COVID. There is a continual stripping away of places that facilitate authentic human connection. So, many folks are doing their best to create spaces that emphasize community. For Samora, that was reimagining how the headliner shares space with their bandmates. And I loved it.
Sometimes I fall into the trap of these concerts being shows. Like we come to see the artist perform and there is a level of us in the crowd and them on the stage. Samora making sure that his collaborators had the space to share their music felt like a moment where they wanted to shift how community can be at the center of all we do, especially music. Music is a communal experience and the business of it can sometimes elevate the spectacle over the collective experience imo. And I just felt like the decision to be more intentional with designing a space for his collaborators to share of themselves also allowed for greater understanding in Samora's music making process as a fan.
Joshua Crumbley
Like you mentioned, one of those collaborators (Joshua Crumbly) caught my attention for a couple reasons. The music he played was very meditative. I've been leaning more into things that require me to slow down and listen. When I slow down, I am able to identify and feel emotions. His music immediately felt like that for me.
Speaking of Leon Bridges, at his latest show in Philly, he had a pair of brothers open for him - Hermanos Gutierrez. In their Youtube performance + interview on KEXP they relayed a thought that they heard from Pharrell, that "chords are coordinates..." Essentially meaning that if you hit a particular note it can transport you to a very specific place and can be very individual/specific. Chords as coordinates guiding you to a place in your memory just stuck with me. As a way to access specific memories and emotions. Joshua Crumbly's choice of chords and style of play resonated with me at that moment. Hard to pinpoint why but something I will be sitting with.
I also feel like we gotta shout out Brayla! The vocals, man.
Stanley: Brayla's opening set was phenomenal! She set the tone for the night in a big way. There was a spirit, an energy, in the room throughout the night that I think she, along with Bobby Hall III who accompanied her on piano, helped usher in. To your point about community, Samora had Brayla join him and the band on stage for the final song of the night. Concerts can easily fall into a hierarchy, but to have the stage shared in a literal way I think is a tangible example of what community looks like in the music performance space.
Elliott Skinner
This sentiment was also echoed by Elliott Skinner, who plays guitar and sings, during his set. He mentioned how appreciative he was for Samora's willingness to share the stage, and how, as a touring musician, he's been in situations where he's playing "3 instruments in the dark" and the headlining artist doesn't even acknowledge him (or something to that effect).
I really enjoyed Elliot's set, too. I was most struck by his approach to the guitar. Elliot doesn't use a guitar pick, which is common for many Western guitar players to use. But, because he's just using his fingers, it allows him to get a unique timbre out of the guitar as well as doing some interesting things rhythmically and outlining bass notes. In some ways, his approach to the guitar reminds me of Lionel Loueke. And I love his voice, how nimble it felt.
This was Samora Pinderhughes’ first show in the US run of dates, following a set of dates in Europe. He mentioned that it was good to be amongst his people again. What did you think about the audience’s engagement with the music? And the energy overall throughout the night?
Kevin: Audience watch is always interesting! Samora's music definitely speaks to the Black experience as we mentioned. So his (our) people were definitely in the building. But also, the topics he explores are universally human. So there was a wide range of folks there. I wanted to ask this old head who was there alone how he came across Samora's music but got sidetracked by Amos Lee being there (shoutout The Ricky).
Audience engagement was beautiful though overall. There was a level of attention that you don't always see at shows. I saw someone sitting on the floor taking it in. Others standing, looking to be feeling the songs in their own space. Not much talking either while the artists played. It felt intimate and meaningful. Normally the talk is about, will a show sell out and while that would be important ($$), I do think having an audience really care about the music can be equally as rewarding for an artist. Samora's music causes you to reflect, process and still be in the moment. It felt like that to me.
What did you think? I know you were moving around taking photos, anything that stood out to you regarding the crowd?
I was air hustling a little after the show, and I heard these two people mention that they were music therapists and how they often use Samora's music during sessions. I thought that was really fascinating.
I wanted to riff a bit on the money of it all, because I think what you're bringing up is an important point. Samora mentioned how the music industry — broadly conceived as the collection of executives, managers, bookers, and so on — often tries to push him away from his people. He didn't elaborate on this, but a reading of history can help us arrive at what he's referring to; how artists get featured in certain publications, the festivals they get booked on, the venues they play, and so on.
Regarding audience engagement, I wanted to circle back to Brayla's set. Brayla is from Dallas, but has spent the past few years in Philly playing with TreWay & The Now Generation. At the risk of oversimplification, the style of music of The Now Generation is the meeting point of Black church kids who grew up in the 90s and early 2000s, whose parents probably listened to a lot of Neo-Soul, and some Pop elements. Brayla would do these malismas ("runs" and "riffs") placed in ways that can only be understood from a lived experience (which is attached to place!). The same for Samora's set. When Joshua Crumbly would do something on the bass, or Elliot would sing. I can only imagine the ways a (white) European audience would be unmoved, or these same moments would go unnoticed. But, in this room, on this night, you could feel a type of engagement — a way of knowing — that connected the stage and the audience.
